fiction
WHAT MAKES A MAN
Catherine Jinks
The Notary
Pan Macmillan $25.00pb, 569pp
0 7329 1025 0
Catherine Jinks
THE NOTARY, FOLLOWING fairly hot on the heels of its companion novel The Inquisitor, is not for the faint-hearted; preoccupied with sexuality (in all the forms -- and more -- that I can think of), it takes us ready, willing or able (innuendo intended) into the taverns, priories, religious establishments, bedrooms, alleys and lofts of the not-so-good citizens of fourteenth century Avignon in France.Through the machinations of a Church investigation into the murder and subsequent castration of what must surely be one of the more repellant characters the Church could shape, The Notary conducts its own investigation into what it is, or isn't, that makes a man a man.
The eponymous narrator, the notary Raymond Maillot, is introduced to us as a lusty, irresponsible, immature, dissolute, good-hearted, quick-witted, handsome and musical man of twenty-five. In the 569 pages of the novel Raymond is encouraged to question his particular style of manliness by the cold and desiccated Church investigator Amiel de Semur. St Augustin is proffered to Raymond as a possible role model, as one who has succumbed to lustful thoughts even into old age, but who rose above it (sorry, more deliberate innuendo) to become a true man of God, which is a different kind of man.
In the meantime we can surmise that monks are generally not men, if they are celibate, but nor are they men if they are homosexual (usually referred to as sodomites) or if they are effeminate (one poor monk being referred to as a weak maggot, which is obviously not a man), and fellows who practise Italian sex, which I discovered is as a stallion does, are not men either. All virile, active heterosexuals are men, although they might also be fornicators and/or adulterers.
While questions of manliness or lack thereof are raised in the first sentence of the book, and are painstakingly pursued throughout, the possibility that one might demonstrate that one is a man by other means is also explored. In particular moral behaviour and strength of character are presented as true indicators of manliness. Towards the end of the book, when his veneration of Amiel de Semur has been dismantled, Raymond reflects thus: 'the quiet, reserved, clever, witty, imperturbable, sometimes mischievous, often heroic, usually indulgent, entirely estimable man. Whether or not this man had ever truly existed, I cannot say.'
Raymond is chosen by Amiel to be his notary in the case relating to the murder and castration. Amiel's task is to determine whether or not sorcery has played some part in the murder and, if so, who has been so indulging. Suffice to say that Amiel, through clever interrogation and not a little deceit and entrapment, uncovers sorcery, sodomy, greed and resentment, as well as intrigue, blackmail, adultery and a touch of heresy.
In the meantime Amiel takes the time to deliberately isolate Raymond from his -- mostly dubious -- friends and family, and from his numerous and complicated dalliances. Raymond is quickly in the thrall of this strong-willed and manipulative former Inquisitor of Heretical Depravity (what chance did he have, you may well ask?). He demonstrates an alarming and somewhat irritating proclivity for self-criticism and humility, matched in equal measure with a profound tendency to repeatedly break out of the cold embrace of celibacy and temperance.
It seems to me that The Notary, while traversing much of the same ground as its forerunner, The Inquisitor, is the poorer novel. Raymond Maillot is not as convincing a lead character as the Inquisitor Father Bernard, and The Notary's preoccupations do not have as much weight as those of the earlier novel. Where Father Bernard was convincingly, indeed movingly, locked in battle with a corrupt and evil superior Inquisitor, using as his weapons his goodness, his humanity and his intellect, Raymond seems by contrast to have an oddly adolescent set of preoccupations and abilities. Where The Inquisitor, a full 150 pages shorter than The Notary, contains a number of plausible and diverse characters, The Notary has a bewildering array of bit players about most of whom it is difficult to care overmuch (I have some sympathy with Raymond when he says 'my interest in the troubles of the clergy was tepid'). Where The Inquisitor is a highly satisfying murder mystery, the death in The Notary is unmourned by all and hardly a source of tension. In fact the novel has a false ending when the sorcery case is concluded, and the story has difficulty cranking up for the last 100 pages in order that the murder mystery is resolved.
Incomplete:
Cathrine Harboe-Ree is Director, Collections and Services at the State Library of Victoria.
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Return to Australian Book Review /July 2000